Triad
by The Mocking J
Summary: Three is a fortunate number, Henry thinks.


**[[Spoilers:** For Miracle Mask.

 **Set:** During and after Miracle Mask. **]]**

* * *

 **Triade**

 _Three is a fortunate number,_ Henry thinks. He has known this ever since his patchy school days. In Math, three is a magic number, a factor of many. In Science, be sure to repeat the experiment thrice. When writing, always remember the Rule of Three. _Omne trium perfectum_. It's reliable, rhythmical, remarkable.

To no one's surprise, _The Three Musketeers_ is his favorite book as a child. Master Randall catches him reading it over and over and over again. He doesn't share Henry's fascination, but he thirsts for an adventure like one in the story. Henry and Angela are promoted from _amigos_ to musketeers. Dalston is the dastardly villain. Their playdates become 'perilous' escapades filled with sword fights, treasure hunts and prison breaks.

Then a new contender comes to town: Hershel Layton. Henry expects him to be a third wheel between Master Randall and Angela. You can't have a prince, a princess and a knight… Or _can_ you?

Four is one too many, as both he and Dalston soon discover.

Layton isn't entirely to blame. Henry's education is pushed aside as his duties to the Ascot family pile up. Still, he always helps Master Randall prepare for his adventures, even if he can no longer participate.

He takes both reassurance and regret in knowing Randall's latest trip to Akbadain will be his last. When Randall returns, brimming with treasure and knowledge, he will propose to Miss Angela. The two of them will likely move to London together, while Henry remains at Mr. Ascot's service.

One is a lonely number, but Henry will never admit that, as long as Randall gets to live his life.

Randall is the whole number— the composite. Everyone is divided when he falls, and Henry forgets everything he knew.

He is dismissed from Ascot Manor— _"You were aware of my son's foolish plans, but never thought to warn us?"—_ with nothing but his favorite book, his robot toy and the clothes on his back. Mrs. Ascot begs him to take some money and provisions, but he refuses. (He's already taken too much from her.) Instead, he seeks solace with the search parties heading to Akbadain. Not the greedy men who are after Mr. Ascot's reward money, but three archaeology graduates thrilled by the allure of a rescue mission. A young man and two women. Thierry, Toni and Wanda. These are the types of people Randall would trust. They're about as organized as Randall too, bringing only one tent between the three of them.

At the edge of Thornley's Gorge, Thierry offers to camp out with Henry and Toni tosses him her sleeping bag.

"I'll share with Wanda," Toni says, flashing Thierry a grin.

 _"Tais-toi_ ," Thierry hisses. Henry doesn't need a translation to understand the insinuation.

The women do settle down without a peep, but Henry still struggles to rest. The sleeping bag's too small, or rather, he's too tall. (Dalston was right about him being a beanpole.)

He sits up and listens to the wind stirring the sand, the lizards skittering around, and the odd cricket's song. (Angela would hate it out here—)

"Are you awake?"

Henry glances at Thierry, who's staring up at the sky with his hands under his greasy brown hair. He draws a line in the stars with his finger. "See the Belt of Orion?"

If only to humour him, Henry rolls his eyes upwards. There are indeed three stars, but he has no idea whether they really make up Orion's Belt.

"It's a good omen," Thierry says. "We'll find what we're searching for, just like the hunter—"

"What are 'we' searching for?" Henry's question is quiet, but sharp with suspicion. Was it a mistake to join this ragtag team of explorers? He was so reliant on their charity— and, perhaps, their companionship— that he didn't consider they might have ulterior motives.

Why would they care about finding Randall? He isn't the centre of their universe.

Thierry levers himself up on his elbows, studying Henry. "Your friend... the Ascot boy?" he answers uncertainly.

"Why?"

"He applied to our university—"

"And a mountain of gold would be nice!" Wanda calls from the tent. Henry flinches; he didn't realise how loudly they were talking.

" _Monte d'Or_ , yes," Thierry chuckles, easing off the tension. He smiles at Henry. "The treasure would be a bonus— student loans don't pay themselves— but our top priority is finding the boy."

Somewhat satisfied, Henry hunkers down in his sleeping bag.

He's barely closed his eyes before Thierry nudges him awake. They need to get up early to avoid the rising desert heat.

The graduates were resourceful enough to bring breakfast— Wanda splits her granola bar with Henry— but they're poorly equipped for an expedition. It soon becomes clear, however, that the trio are trained survivors.

They traverse the Akbadain ruins with relative ease. Henry fears he's slowing them down, partly because he keeps scouting for signs that Randall was here. A discarded shovel, a rucksack, a pair of shattered glasses... Henry shudders. No— Layton claimed Randall fell into a pit in the last chamber.

When they reach this chamber, they discover the pit has devoured most of the floor. There's no way to cross over to the door on the other side.

Henry squints into the depths. _Master Randall is down there, somewhere…_

Wanda holds him back by the arm, worried he might attempt to dive down.

Toni spits into the pit. When she doesn't hear a 'plop', she sighs. "So much for the rescue mission... and our _Monte d'Or..."_

Thierry shrugs. "At least we know how far it goes now. We'll come back next time with better provisions and more volunteers." He turns and starts striding out of the chamber. Toni follows disappointedly.

"Let's go," Wanda whispers. Henry allows her to lead him outside. How Hershel Layton made it out alive, he'll never know.

* * *

Three years later, he makes a proposal to Angela. By this time, the search parties have bridged the pit and breached the mountain of gold behind the door. He offered his archaeologist friends a hefty share of the treasure, as long as he could keep the Mask of Chaos. They agreed to his terms on one condition.

"You find someone to share it with," Wanda said.

Neither she, Toni or Thierry are staying in Monte d'Or. They're continuing their travels together. Henry will miss them, though he won't admit it. He must remain at the Reunion Inn with Lady Ascot. The two of them will continue managing the search for Randall.

Two becomes three when Angela says yes. The wedding is a hasty affair. Angela must feel like a bereaved queen, settling for the knight instead of her king.

Lady Ascot and the Redolls are the only witnesses. Angela's parents hope they will have a lavish honeymoon, but Henry is too 'stingy' for that and too absorbed with the search.

At first, Angela isn't sure what to do with herself at the inn. She's escaped from under her parents' thumb but there's very little entertainment in the oasis town (or rather, _hamlet_ ) of Monte d'Or. Still, she won't step foot in the ruins, and she wishes Henry would stay away from them as well.

"Surely, you have enough members for the search parties?" she pleads from his bedroom doorway.

Henry pulls the suspenders over his shirt. "Yes, but I have to oversee them and make sure everyone pulls their weight. That includes me."

She creeps into the room. "Just promise me..." Too many broken promises in her past, she trails off.

Henry smiles at her. (Hopefully, it's reassuring— he's never been good at smiling.) "I'll uphold the vows I made to you."

 _Stay by my side and I'll bring you the treasure you truly desire._

"Thank you."

Henry is stunned when she hugs him. Their wedding kiss was chaste and methodical, simply used to seal an agreement. Now, her arms are warm around his neck and her head is tucked under his chin. Her soft hair smells of apricots and honey…

 _Oh. Oh, no..._

Henry puts his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her away. "I should be going." He hurries to the door, but pauses, turning back. Her crumpled look dissipates quicker than rain on the desert sand.

"Could you... help me with something?" he manages to ask.

"Anything."

"There are some entrepreneurs coming to Monte d'Or this afternoon. I'm hoping they will set up shop and invest in the area. Please could you greet them here and answer any questions they have?"

"Of course!" Angela beams. "It will be nice to see some new faces around town."

She's always been good at reading people— studying Psychology does have its uses— and who can resist her charm?

Henry returns her smile. "Then I leave Monte d'Or in your more-than capable hands."

Of course Dalston is amongst the batch of businessmen. Fresh out of university, he comes crawling back to them with claims of setting up a hotel.

"I thought his hospitality course would last for longer than that," Henry comments after Angela tells him about how she _happened_ to bump into Dalston.

"Does it really matter?" Angela replies. "He's so passionate about building his hotel and his family will help with the funding. I doubt he'll let anything stand in his way."

"We'll see," Henry mumbles. Dalston will have to settle on the far side of town, next to the stables and the supply of fertiliser.

So, three becomes four... in Angela's mind. Alphonse is their dear old friend and he's here to stay. Henry doesn't argue with her and for the most part, he avoids Dalston.

* * *

Neither Dalston, Mordaunt or anyone in Monte d'Or ever doubts that Henry and Angela are married, despite the fact that Henry is rarely at the manor, and the two of them never behave as if they're romantically involved. This in itself isn't strange – there are plenty of couples who don't engage in public displays of affection ( _Perish the thought!)_ or even copulation.

But as soon as Master Randall comes home, there are cries of "SCANDAL!"

Randall is branded a 'homewrecker'— quite literally after several houses were damaged in the sand wave— but anyone can see the innuendo behind the words. Though Henry makes sure the buildings are repaired, there's not much he can do for Randall's reputation, save shutting down the tabloids.

"It doesn't matter…" Randall brushes aside the magazines Mrs. Ascot brought them. "I guess I deserve this."

Then someone accuses Angela of cheating. Angela, who put her life on hold for eighteen years, who waited for the man she loved, even after he was presumed dead. Both Randall and Henry are prepared to hunt the guilty reporter down, but Dalston informs them that won't be necessary.

"I told him to get out of town or I'd set a tiger on him."

Angela laughs. "Thank you, Alphonse."

"No problem…" Dalston glances between the trio. "Now, care to clarify what's _really_ going on between the three of you?"

Randall and Angela exchange a look— the silent consultation of a king and queen.

They nod encouragingly at their knight. "Alright," Henry sighs.

Why is three still considered a crowd? Why are trios frowned upon?

As long as one equals two equals three, what does it matter?

 _Yes,_ Henry thinks as he embraces both Randall and Angela after everything that's happened. _Three is a fortunate number._


End file.
